


goldness in the upstairs

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: The Children of Turkana [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Episode: s01e23 Skin of Evil, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Tasha Yar Lives, data is a sweetheart, eldritch horror Tasha Yar, i hestitate to call this fluff but its pretty damn close, references to science experiements, tasha thinks shes a monster, teen rating just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Eventually, the euphemism would develop: the children of Turkana. It wasn’t the first time the Federation had encountered monsters disguised as children. But never before had it been quite like this.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar
Series: The Children of Turkana [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769665
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	goldness in the upstairs

**Author's Note:**

> I had some Welcome to Night Vale nostalgia, so I wrote some eldritch horror!Tasha Yar. There are two parts, this one and an explicit follow up that I'll be editing and posting soon. What can I say? Sometimes you just have feelings about loving monsters.
> 
> Title is from the short story "Born of Man and Woman," by Richard Matheson. I read it years ago, in high school, and it's haunted me ever since. When Tasha references Matheson in the fic, this is the story she means.

The thing was, it wasn’t until she left Turkana IV that Tasha realized it was _weird_. She’d known something was off about the world, in the way children often pick up the abstract sense of wrongness from the whispers of adults. But knowing something is vaguely wrong is not the same as being a screaming, terrified fifteen-year-old girl and watching in shock as the people who say they’re trying to help you recoil, shrieking in horror and staring at the black sludge leaking onto their hands where they touched you, whispering prayers and phrases like “dear god, what _is_ it” as they trip over themselves in their haste to back away. It’s not the same as blinking rapidly with just five eyes, only three of them glowing but all of them streaming bloody tears, ducking under the beds in the sickbay as they erect buzzing fields around you, fields that sting when you touch them and make you cry harder, until the floor around you is a wet puddle of red and black and your body is more tentacle than limb, cocooning yourself in a hug that will protect you only if they come at you with knives like the men on the planet did.

Later, the euphemism would develop: the children of Turkana. It wasn’t the first time the Federation had encountered monsters disguised as children. But never before had it been quite like this.

By the time she was eighteen, Tasha had learned. She was pretty, they told her, when she was normal. Short blond hair, fading darker in her undercut. Blue eyes, just the two of them, clear and sharp, but so sweet when they warmed with laughter. Not that Tasha laughed much.

But she did learn. Because for all that the Federation preached diversity and tolerance, they still didn’t want people knowing about the monsters that lurked, abandoned, on the outskirts of their worlds. The Turkana files were sealed off, top security clearance to access. Tasha’s background was classified, with a shiny new Section 31 approved cover story in place. The word “Turkana” was for ghost stories about an abandoned Federation planet, and the secret monsters they had found there. Officially, a natural disaster had left the planet unlivable, unsalvageable. Officially, Tasha Yar was from the Martian colonies. Officially, she wasn’t a monster.

And Tasha would excuse herself from the ghost stories. She would smile, and say she had better things to do then listen to a bunch of cadets, or a bunch of ensigns, or a bunch of lieutenants letting their imaginations run wild. And she would go back to her work. And she wouldn’t cry. Because Tasha knew better now, and if the tears fell, red as blood and twice as thick, then people would know. They would know that Tasha Yar was a child of Turkana. And they would never look at her the same.

In the aftermath of Armus, Data was the one who came to her, and Tasha had a pretty good idea why. He was silent when he stepped into her quarters, the door sliding closed behind him, and Tasha repressed the urge to look at him on instinct before she realized there wasn’t any point. An eye blinked open, at the base of her neck, and even with her back to him she watched him stand there. Not moving. Just looking at her. She closed it again, and then her other two, squeezed them hard against the prickle of red clouding her vision. She sniffled, and when she wiped away the teardrop rolling down her cheek, her fingers came away red and sticky. She rubbed them on her uniform pants.

“Are you alright?” Data asked. Softly. Carefully. Like at any moment she might lash out. Or break.

Instead she laughed. It surprised her as much as him, but suddenly she couldn’t stop, wrapping her arms around her waist and doubling over, chin tucked against her chest as she laughed and laughed and laughed because _fuck_ , it was funny. A black pile of malevolent sludge had tried to kill her, and she’d chewed him up and spat him back out because what was she, if not the same as him? Just better at hiding it.

Well. Not anymore.

“I’m fine,” she said, still giggling. “Oh, I’m am _so_ fine.” She turned on the spot, arms still crossed, and surveyed him. She tilted her head, a parody of his. “What’s wrong, Data? Never seen a monster laugh before?”

Data’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

Tasha nodded. She was still grinning. She couldn’t help it. “Is the captain going to suspend me?”

His frown deepened. “Doctor Crusher said your medical results indicated no adverse reaction.”

Yeah, Tasha had seen the scans. She’d also seen the way Beverly had tried so hard not to look at her while administering them. “Not sick leave, Data. Is he suspending me from duty?”

Data blinked. “Do you feel unfit to work?”

Tasha suppressed a spark of frustration. Her palms itched, and she curled her hands into fists, nails biting into them. “I told you. I feel fine.”

“Then I do not understand-“

“You don’t, do you?” Tasha spat. Then, instinct again, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Calming herself down. She opened her eyes, still just two, and looked at him. “Why are you here, Data?”

“I wanted to know if you were alright.”

“Why?”

If it was possible, Data looked hurt. He hesitated. “Because we are friends. Are we not?”

Something ugly and dark in Tasha deflated. She collapsed onto the sofa, dropping her head into her hands, trying and failing to pretend that the squirming thing in her gut was leftovers from Armus. “We’re friends,” she whispered, and her voice shook when she said it. The tears were flowing freely now, spilling red over her hands, and that stain would never come out of the couch but Tasha couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was tired.

She felt the sofa dip as Data gingerly took a seat beside her, hands resting flat on his knees. After a moment, he laced his fingers together. They sat in silence for several agonizing seconds. Then, Data said, “You do not have to explain anything you do not want to.”

“But you want to know,” Tasha translated. She smiled in spite of herself. It was so Data. Always caring. Always curious. She took a deep breath, blinking rapidly to staunch the flow of tears, and turned to look at him. “What do you want to know?”

If he was put off by the red streaks down her face, he didn’t react. His eyes remained fixed on hers. “You are human,” he said.

Tasha nodded. “I am.” She’d undergone enough medical tests, enough poking and prodding with scanners and scalpels to know that much. “Most of the time, I’m just human.”

“But you are also something else?”

Tasha looked away. “You saw it.”

“I do not know what I saw.”

Tasha snorted. “Yeah, because a six-foot pile of black goo and glowing eyes is really hard to identify.”

Unexpectedly, a hand landed on top of hers, and Tasha stared down at it. Data’s fingers were inhumanly pale, with that faint gold shimmer, but she could still see tendons and veins moving beneath the skin. Human, but not.

“You were not six feet.”

It startled a laugh out of her, not hysterical this time but a short punch of air. She covered her mouth with her free hand, and peeked at Data with another eye on the side of her neck. There was a faint crook of satisfaction to his lips. A smile.

“Not six feet, huh?”

He shook his head. “My estimations are not precise, of course, but I do not believe you grew any taller than five feet, ten inches.”

“I only gained two, huh? Bummer.” She stared at the floor, but also at Data. The duality of vision should have been jarring after so long of suppressing it, but it came back as naturally as breathing. Quietly, she said, “No one’s ever really been able to explain it. Something about…radiation, or maybe something in the air or the water. They don’t really know. It didn’t change the adults, but the kids they had…we came out different.”

“You are not speaking about the Martian colonies.”

“No.”

There was a pause, and Tasha could almost hear the whir of Data’s brain as he accessed his databanks. After a moment, he ventured a guess, “There is a legend about a Federation planet which became unlivable for humans, but which produced unusual children.”

“The children of Turkana.”

Data nodded. “It is said that when they cry, people bleed.”

“I know the story.” Tasha swallowed hard. She moved her hand out from under Data’s, wringing hers together. Her throat stuck when his fingers brushed her cheek, tracing the drying tear tracks down. She turned her head, fighting to swallow as she stared at the wall, and he pulled away.

“I’m not really supposed to tell anyone,” she whispered. “The files are classified. People aren’t supposed to know.”

“If you would like me to stop asking-“

“I don’t.” The admission twisted in her chest, and she tightened her hands. “I don’t,” she repeated. “You’ve already seen it. You already know.”

“Would this be why you are less emotional than most humans?”

“Not…not less emotional. Just better at hiding it.”

Data nodded. It had made things easier for their friendship. Some people found it hard to connect to Data, a being who showed so little emotion. But Tasha had stared at her face in the mirror enough times to learn what it looked like when someone felt things but didn’t show it. And whatever he might have said, Tasha knew Data felt _something_.

“When I’m overwhelmed,” she said carefully, “when I start feeling too much, I lose my grip on this form. It’s…it’s still me. But it’s not the only me. And it’s easier, letting this form slip, than coming back to it.” She touched her neck lightly, physically sliding the eyelid closed with a finger, letting it sink back into her skin. “But no one wants to look at a monster.”

“You are not a monster, Tasha.”

“No,” Tasha snorted. “I’m a ‘genetic anomaly.’ A ‘mutant.’ Something out of ancient Earth literature about nuclear or eldritch horrors. It all means the same thing. The scientists left books…” She swallowed.

“Isaac Asimov.”

Tasha blinked. She looked back to Data. His expression was perfectly neutral. “What?”

“Isaac Asimov,” he repeated. “And Philip K. Dick. When Starfleet first began studying me, those were the texts the scientists left in my quarters.”

For Tasha, it had felt more like a cell, however nice they’d done it up. But she nodded. “Lovecraft and Matheson,” she said. “Some Bradbury. Like it was a joke to them. Like I wouldn’t get what they were saying.”

“I assumed it was another test.”

Tasha pulled her legs up onto the sofa, wrapping her arms around them to hug them to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees. “I hated their stupid tests.”

“They why did you choose to join Starfleet?”

“Why did you?” she shot back.

It made Data pause. When he answered, it was thoughtful. “I wished to prove that I was sentient, in my own way. That I could be useful. That I could…participate in society.”

“There you go.” Tasha couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Starfleet was better than a cage.”

Data didn’t have an answer for that, but Tasha got the feeling he understood. Silence lapsed again.

“When I cry,” she said after a minute, “no one else bleeds but me.”

“They hurt you.”

Tasha shrugged. “People get scared. On Turkana…I didn’t really get it. I knew things were bad, and I knew I wasn’t safe, but I didn’t really understand why. I didn’t get that the adults were scared of the monsters their children had become.” She allowed herself a thought for Ishara. Her baby sister. The glowing golden child. To look at her was like looking into a sun. She felt her stability waver, and she pushed the thought away again, snuffing it out like a candle. “I thought, when Starfleet came, that they could keep me safe. Safer, at least. But they were scared too. They wanted an explanation.”

“That does not justify what they did to you.”

“What about you?” Tasha looked at him. “People talk about taking you apart. They don’t care about breaking you.” Without thinking about it, she twisted towards him, resting a hand on his chest. She tapped it, right where his heart should have been. “They wouldn’t care if they wiped out everything special about you. They just want to see if they can make more.”

Data looked down at her hand, then back up at her. “But I do not feel as you do,” he murmured. “It is…distressing, to know how people view me. But I believe it must pale in comparison to experiencing it as you do.”

Tasha chewed on her lip. She shook her head. “I don’t want to play this game.”

“Game?”

“I don’t want to start fighting about who has it worse. It sucks, Data, it all fucking sucks.” She leaned forward, and without quite knowing how they got there, Tasha found herself cuddled against Data’s chest, his arm around her. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her cheek against him, feeling his pulse beat steady. “All I ever wanted was for people to treat me like I was normal. Like I wasn’t something to be afraid of.”

“I am not afraid of you.”

“You aren’t afraid of anything.” She didn’t believe the words, but she knew Data did. It bought her another minute of quiet while he thought.

Finally, he said, “Even if I were capable of fear, I would not experience it from you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do not see why I would be frightened.” His fingers stroked her cheek again, not tracing anything this time. Just touching. “The humanoid body is already foreign to me. It is not static, as mine is.”

“Most people don’t grow extra eyes.”

“Young children frequently have bones fall out of their skulls, to be replaced by larger, stronger bones,” Data countered. “When an Andorian’s antenna is severed, it grows back. There are species in the Federation with translucent flesh, allowing you to see the internal systems beneath, and any number of races with additional limbs, from prehensile tails to additional arms or wings. And that does not consider many species who are _not_ humanoid, but who are widely accepted as sentient. The Horta, for example, resembles living rock. Starfleet has encountered sentient gas clouds and beings that exist without physical form at all. And there are several species with the ability to change shape in some form. If I could accept all of that, why should I be frightened of you?”

It was hard to think of a counter to that. “I don’t know,” she murmured. Data’s heartbeat hadn’t changed. “They aren’t human, though. I’m supposed to be.”

“You have stated that you are human.”

“But I’m doing it wrong.”

“I have often sought to be more human, in spite of my mechanical nature. Would you say that I am wrong?”

“That’s different. You’re…you.”

“And you are you,” Data said. He stroked her hair gently, soothing, and Tasha fought the need to press into the touch. She was closer to Data than she’d ever been to anyone. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held like this. If she ever had before.

She kept her voice low, but she knew he would hear it, even whispered into the fabric of his uniform. “You really don’t mind?”

“You are my friend. This is part of who you are.” Like it was really that simple.

“And the others?”

“I cannot say. But if they care for you, then they will accept you as you are.”

“As a monster.”

“As Tasha,” Data corrected. “That is all you are. Not a monster. Simply something unique. Special.”

Tasha smiled, and when she opened her eyes to look up at Data, there were a lot more than two. And most of them were glowing. “You think I’m special?”

Data’s expression was so earnest that it hurt. “To me, you were special even before this mission. Because you were my friend.” He hesitated, and then took her hand, the one still on his chest, and laced their fingers together. “You are special to me, Tasha. This does not change that.”

“You’re pretty special to me too,” Tasha murmured. She wet her lips, and then leaned forward, pressing a short kiss to Data’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For checking up on me. For making sure I was okay.” Because it might just have been that Data didn’t know any better. He didn’t know that you were supposed to run from monsters. But it didn’t matter. Because he wasn’t running from Tasha. And maybe it was desperate, pathetic, but Tasha would take anything she could get.

Picard looked at her for a very long time when she appeared on the bridge, stepping into her normal station at the start of her shift. Beyond him, at the ops terminal, Tasha could see Data watching her too. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, inclining his head slightly before turning back to his work.

Tasha shifted her eyes – still just two – back to Picard. “Reporting for duty, Captain,” she said. A question. A challenge.

The captain glanced at Riker, then at Deanna. He smiled up at her. “Glad to have you with us, Lieutenant.” He took a seat in his chair, directing the helmsman to plot a course, and Tasha relaxed. And she smiled. With three different mouths.


End file.
